The Holiday Spirit
by FoxGlade
Summary: It was a quiet, somewhat normal Christmas day for Yassen - a fire, a glass of wine or two and a good book. But things rarely stay quiet for Yassen, especially when a certain teenage spy is involved... Torture, language, death. No slash.
1. A Quiet Christmas Indeed

_The Holiday Spirit_

---

_A Quiet Christmas Indeed_

---

Christmas was nothing special for Yassen. Well, not usually.

Despite the fact that his mother and father had been two of Russia's many Russian Orthodox citizens, Christmas had never held any particular meaning for Yassen. Sure, it had been a day when all his family had gathered together, prayed and celebrated, but there had been none of this Western culture nonsense – no meaningless plastic gifts, no big commercial corporations smuggling in on the festivities… no, Christmas had been meaningful in a happy, family way. But since his parents had died, he had decided that God didn't particularly care about individual people, so why would He care if just one more person didn't celebrate His son's birthday?

So it came to be that, on this snowy Christmas morning in Berlin, Germany, that Yassen was enjoying a rare holiday from his job, a two month break between jobs. He knew that it was in part a slight reward for his activities lately. Seeing as Alex Rider had seen him 'die', the agencies of the world (except for SCORPIA, of course) thought him to be so. Which wasn't exactly true, obviously, but it was marvelous for jobs. Who would think to accuse a dead person? And no one would dispute the famous Alex Rider's word.

Alex Rider. Yassen furrowed his eyebrows very slightly. Something about that boy… he shook his head and put the thought out of his head.

This Christmas, however, was spent in a way that Yassen didn't often indulge in; relaxation. Since the whole city was covered in foot deep snow, there was really only one way to spend the day. He lit up the fireplace, got out a glass and a bottle of wine, and fetched the book that he was currently reading in between jobs.

Which he found unusual – normally he wouldn't feel as good about letting his guard down, even if he wasn't the job and was sure that he was completely under the radar. But today he was quite content to immerse in his book and forget the outside world.

That is, until a flurry of knocking sounded on his door.

_Suddenly there came a tapping… _he quoted, with an internal sigh of exasperation. Of course, no emotion showed on his face, but hey, life of an assassin did that to you.

He walked to the door, wondering who would be on his doorstep in this weather, especially who would be knocking, _still_, with such desperation.

That was when the first worm of doubt wriggled into his mind. "Coming," he called, and the knocking stopped. A few seconds later he had reached the door and pulled it open. He looked around, but there was no one there… probably some stupid kids, he decided. But for some reason he looked down.

And stepped back in shock.

There, lying on his doorstep, was the very still body of Alex Rider.


	2. Bewilderbeast

_The Holiday Spirit_

---

_Bewilderbeast_

---

Yassen's cool, aloof masked rarely slipped. But it did, occasionally.

His first reaction was a practical and calm one - he checked for a pulse. Even though it seemed highly unlikely to find one, what with the boy's skin being a pale, icy blue. And for a moment there was no sign of life, and Yassen closed his eyes, but then he felt it; a weak, slow pulse that was faintly going, but there nonetheless.

Yassen's second reaction was slightly less clinical. He lifted the boy up gently and slowly - to prevent him going into shock, of course – and carried him inside, setting him down on the couch and throwing a blanket over him.

Yassen's third reaction was the same as his first one – he checked the boy over for injuries.

And that's when his reactions got a lot less cold.

_What the hell happened?! _He thought, eyes widening in shock. If he didn't know better, he would have said that the teenager had been tortured… hell, he probably had been, seeing as how he tried to get killed almost on a daily basis, despite Yassen's own warning. And now the fool of a boy had paid the price for ignoring said warning. Along with the long gashes that had so obviously been inflicted by a knife on his arms, and the bruises littering his body, he had three broken fingers, a broken ankle, and a bullet lodged in his hand, between his forefinger and thumb.

Yassen looked away from the boy, slightly nauseated. He didn't even consider the fact that he hadn't reacted to anything so… emotionally, in many years, even if he was only feeling a bit sickened. How was it that he could kill any person that he was told to, torture anyone for almost any reason, and yet… He looked at the sleeping teenager, who looked much younger and weaker now that he was lying half dead on the older man's couch. Was it because he resembled John Rider so closely? Yes, it must be. Satisfied at finding a sound answer, he closed that thought and started onto a new one. What was he going to do now?

There was no way he could take the boy to a hospital and admit him – that would leave records of him, traces he wanted none of. He couldn't leave the boy there by himself either, since there was no guarantee that he'd be treated. So it seemed that he would have to care for the boy himself, as undesirable as that option was.

_Why did these things have to happen to me? _Yassen thought exasperatedly, in a rare moment of self pity. _On my holiday, of all times…_

And that in itself brought up another issue. Why was it his doorstep that the boy had been abandoned on? Had someone found of his present occupation and involvement with one Alex Rider? Or was it simply a strange coincidence?

Yassen pondered these possibilities as he worked to mend the boy's injuries as competently as he could. This mostly meant splints on the broken bones and disinfecting the open wounds, some of which already showed signs of infection. _Well of course they would_, he snapped at himself, once again not noticing the unusual amount of emotion in his voice. _How long would he have been in wherever he was?_

During his attentions, he was once again drawn back to the unhealthy pale blue colour of the boy's skin. Though it had improved slightly, he was still showing definite signs of severe hypothermia, meaning that if his body temperature wasn't raised significantly soon, he would very likely die. So after Yassen had finished the process of dressing the wounds, he once again lifted the boy up – even slower and gentler this time, not that he noticed – and moved him closer to the fire, then added more wood to the flames so that it became a blaze of heat.

Satisfied to have done everything he could, Yassen settled back on the couch, picked up his book and continued reading. _What a merry Christmas this is_, he thought sarcastically as he took a sip of wine and cast a glance over the unconscious boy in front of the fire. _And if things keep going as they are, it's going to be just a fantastic New Year_.

---

It was late Christmas day when Alex Rider opened his eyes and screamed.

Yassen was reading, again, although he had moved on to the next book now. The snow was still falling softly from the sky and piling in heaps on the ground, effectively trapping him inside. Apart from the times when he tried to make the unconscious boy take a little water, the rest of Christmas passed uncelebrated by one Yassen Gregorovich, and rather uneventfully.

And now the boy was wide awake and screaming and the day had taken quite an eventful turn.

And as suddenly as it had started the screaming stopped. With a rare internal sigh (that seemed to be getting more common now that Alex Rider had once more entered his life), Yassen carefully marked his page in the book, set in down, and made his way towards the guest bedroom where he had put the boy for the meantime. He took his time – if he had had to wait for the boy to wake up, then he could wait for Yassen. But he didn't ignore the silence, and when he slipped in through the doorway he was still thinking of a way to deal with the teenager's reaction.

The sight that met him was slightly confusing. He had expected to see a disorientated Alex, of course, but obviously a ready and wary one. If the rumours of the boy's missions were at least half true (and in a place like Scorpia, they usually were) then he was a trained agent. But what he saw was a confused and frightened looking teenager cowering in the blankets on the spare bed… very unlike the Alex Rider he knew.

And when he saw Yassen, his reaction was again confusing. He had expected to be met with anger, hostility, violence, any action associated with hate, really, but what actually happened was… well, the only way to describe it was confusing. Alex straightened up, looked his square in the eye, and said, "Who are you?"

Yassen, of course, showed no sign of said confusion. He had already slipped once for this boy, and he had no intention of letting his mask fall again. Keeping his face of indifference, he said coldly, "I have no time for childish behaviour, Alex. I need to assess your injuries."

The boy blinked. "I'm Alex," he said slowly, as if committing the statement to memory. Yassen's patience was fraying.

"Alex," he almost snapped, but he composed himself and went on. "If you are finished, then I need to check for any mental trauma. Tell me your parents' names, your own name, and your birthday."

The boy blinked again. Yassen's patience, almost limitless normally, was at breaking point, as it seemed to be around this annoyingly stubborn and childish teenager. And then the boy in question answered.

"I don't remember."

Yassen glared at the boy, who surprisingly shrank away. He didn't normally submit to his glares, did he?

"What do you mean?" He did snap now, as his patience threatened to snap along with his voice. The boy, infuriatingly, blinked _again_, and answered.

"I don't remember," he said in an oddly blank tone. "I don't remember anything before waking up." He stared at Yassen. "Now, who _are_ you?"


End file.
